Dictators and Daemons
by Asheanex
Summary: Gregory Lestrade has always followed the same routine, so what happens when a strange encounter in a concert hall with a stranger comes and rips out the floor from underneath him? Currently complete but willing to create a Multi-Fiction if wanted.
1. Chapter 1

It was the same nightmare - when was it not? He supposed it wasn't exactly a nightmare, as it wasn't scary, but it was just the ... Feeling of it: the sense of something big and ... Scary, much scarier than his dreams, approaching. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade would carry on with the usual routine that usually occurred after he woke, shaking and unsure why. He would get up, go to his bathroom down the hall and stare into the mirror for a while, just to check his appearance was fine before going back to bed. The supposed nightmare had never appeared twice in one night, but it had been getting more regular, that same dream.

Seeing as it was nearing seven in the morning with no call in for a weird hanging or a plain homicide, Greg got up and dressed the pale blue shirt and dark blue tie a familiar appearance in the mirrors reflection. Greg had never really liked wearing his jacket, but it appeared polite and professional, which is what his governor wanted. Why would officers who dealt with blood, guts and bones want to be approached by the public? It made no sense to Greg. Anyway, time for work, so after quickly brushing his teeth, he grabbed his shoes and walked from his flat- he had taken to putting his shoes on in the lift, mainly because it was more useful in the small snap of time he had to prepare for whatever the day (and sometimes night) would throw at him. The pinging signal told Greg the metallic sliding doors had opened, and he was greeted with the sight of removal men running up and down the stairs.

"Hey, Danny," said Greg to a student who occupied the flat below him ", what is goin' on?"

"A new chick is moving into the flat above yours." Danny replied, picking up a box and beginning to head towards the stairs. At the confused look from the DI, Danny nodded towards the box and then upstairs.

"I don't have college today, so I offered to help."

"Good man." Greg smiled and walked out of the lobby towards his car.

Unbeknownst to the officer, a darkened smoke slowly crawled up the outer building, before stopping, as if to watch him enter his car and drive away to work. As the Mitsubishi drove away from the small car park, the gaseous being seeped into the wall adjacent to the apartment above Lestrade's.

.o0'O'0o.

"Well done, sir." said Sally Donovan, a sergeant with a good head on her shoulders, if not a little rash to judge at times. The pair had just been doing paperwork, when a call had come in about a body found in an ally. Obviously, the two had gladly taken any excuse to abandon the work and get out of the office, and thus found themselves looking at a body. Samuel Anderson had reliably told them of the stab wound from a standard blade, about six inches long. The wallet was empty and all his pockets had been turned out, the contents missing.

So, apparent mugging then. After a few more hours of documenting the area and body, Anderson had left to get back to his 'bat cave' thus dubbed by most of the yard to write up his report, while Lestrade and Sally had headed back to their offices to await a result on a hair a SOCO had found on the victims collar. So, both of the officers were sat waiting on the forensics to come through. Two hours later, a lab tech with curly hair and a stylized beard appeared quietly and told them the results and the name that the hair belonged to. After he left, Donovan and Lestrade quickly jumped from their seats and fled for the computers in a flurry of silver hair and brunette curls.

"Aaron Burford - twenty four, Caucasian male, living in Hyde Road [1], number sixteen, Single and currently living with a roommate who hasn't been out of the house in two years because of a severe disability." Lestrade rattled the facts as they walked down the hall and into the entrance, Donovan following behind and listening. Lestrade climbed into his car and as Donovan jumped into the passenger seat. The drive was uneventful, apart from an unfortunate woman who was chasing her dog down a street. When they reached number sixteen, Aaron was standing outside with a lawnmower and a confused expression.

"Aaron Burford?"

"Yeah? What'd ya want?" he asked, facing the two strangers appearing in his front garden.

Lestrade flashed his badge.

"We want to ta-"that was all he got before Aaron pushed the lawnmower forward at the two officers and hightailed it over a small fence and into next doors garden.

"Opp, Christ" said Lestrade, narrowly missing the now crashed lawnmower, Sally already chasing after the suspect. Quitting smoking had helped Lestrade's health in the long run, but he wasn't a young constable anymore - age, smoking and a bad diet had fixed that. Never the less, he was still able to catch up with Sally and Aaron. The speeding trio ran into the road, the coppers being delayed as Aaron sped past while cars screeched on their breaks to allow the two passages. By the time they had gotten across the busy junction, Aaron was gone and so were Lestrade's and Sally's breath.

"Wh- where did he go?" panted Sally, straightening her posture.

"No idea" he replied truthfully. Sally groaned and they began their way back to the car. As they passed an alleyway, Lestrade, purely by chance glanced down it, and saw Aaron panting on the brickwork.

"OI!" Yelled the DI and tore down the alley as fast as he could. Aaron, who was both too out of breath and too surprised to do anything more than gape as Lestrade hauled him to his feet and pinned his hands together. Sally called for a few others to come to the mouth of the alleyway, and Aaron was promptly handcuffed securely and driven back to interrogation. Aaron cracked after a few hours, claiming that the reason he mugged the man was to help his disabled friend to pay for some illegal medicine sent in from the states. Aaron was yet again hauled off, leaving Sally and Lestrade to get back to the now bigger pile of paperwork.

"Well done, sir" said Sally.

"Thanks – not really into running much." He said as he sat behind his slightly cluttered desk.

"Good thing too," said Halifax, another sergeant with a kind face and a brain that could tackle any crossword ", because you just got this delivered." And with that, he placed a few three or four inch files on his desk.

"Do you hate me? Is that what it is?" Lestrade asked, looking forlornly at the clock above his door. Halifax turned and made for the door.

"No sir, of course not sir." Replied Halifax over his shoulder, an apologetic but humorous smile on his face. He closed the door slightly after him, and Sally smiled.

"I like him, he's a good kid." She said, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, I hear Dimmocks' fast-tracking him into his team." Mumbled Lestrade into his paperwork, his head making contact with the A4 as soon as the youngest left.

"Damn, could have made him my Protégé." said the sergeant, before laughing and leaving to start her own work.

.o0'O'0o.

The next month or so passed without any more adventures into alleyways or across dangerous junctions, which Lestrade was rather thankful for. He met the new neighbor the same day as she moved in, after work he came back into the lobby and bumped into her. A young woman in her late teens with long blond hair secured in a tight bun with a pair of… what Lestrade could only describe as fashion chopsticks. She introduced herself as Millie and was rather sweet. Lestrade told her if she ever needed anything she could call him, to which she gratefully accepted. They chatted for a few moments, before her mobile went off and hesitantly excused herself.

It was exactly a month after he met Millie that Lestrade got a call at about three in the morning. He was just about doze off, when an unknown number chimed through the silence of his bedroom.

"'Ello? DI Lestrade." He said tiredly.

"G-Greg?" came a timid voice.

"Huh? Millie? Is that you?" he asked, a bit more awake now.

"I am s-s-sorry for waking you… only I-I don't know where I am."

"What? Millie? What do you mean?" he said, sitting up and pulling on his trousers.

"Danny texted me to come to this… hall," she said. Danny and Millie had hit it off really well, and even Lestrade could see that Danny and Millie fancied each other ", and now it's dark and he hasn't shown and … and…" the sound of choked tears wormed their way through the speaker.

"Okay, Okay, Millie? Millie, What hall are you in? I'll come and get you. Did you bring a car?"

"No, no I can't drive yet."

"Okay, where are you?"

"Librene Hall" [2]

"Okay, just hold on."

"Thank you, just… please." And with that, she hung up.

'God, I'm like the bloody father figure in this place' thought Lestrade as he pulled on his T-shirt and grabbed his keys. He pushed his feet into a pair of old trainers and jogged down the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, Lestrade was parked outside a darkened hall and was pushing the door open.

'This place is supposed to be closed, so why…' he thought, but the sight of a body on the floor caught his immediate attention.

"Damn, DANNY!" He sprinted across the varnished hall and fell to his knees, slowly turning the teen onto his back. He pushed the fair hair away from his face. Danny's eyes were closed, and no physical damage had occurred as far as Greg could see, but he appeared to be sleeping.

"Danny? C'mon mate, wake up!"

"He will not wake."

Greg's salt and peppered head snapped up to see Millie walking towards him from the corner of the massive hall, her soft features being illuminated and then darkened into shadows every few steps, thanks to the moonlight pouring through the high windows. She stopped about tem meters away from the grounded pair, her face not changing.

"Millie? What do you mean? Are you alright?" asked Lestrade. As he looked at her lightly smiling face, he had the ominous feeling of being watched, the same type of feeling… that occurred after his dreams, the anticipation and nervous energy burning in his bones, the very core of his being.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine." She said, her laugh a little too high pitched to the one he was used too.

"Millie… Do you know what happened to Danny?" he asked slowly, not to sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Oh yes." She said, her tone soft and seductive. She took a few more steps forward, her thin figure snapping her hips and her now loose hair fluttering past her shoulders.

"And what happened?" The DI asked, his voice a potent mixture of Confusion, nervousness and a hint of anger. Danny, while a little too involved with the latest gadgets, often leading him to be a little socially akward, was like a younger cousin to him. When Greg first had this realization, he was a bit awkward about it, until he came clean and told Danny. To his surprise and relief, Danny was actually rather happy at the thought of a cop looking out for him. So, they were at an understanding. Millie smirked and said

"Danny got a little too carried away with his emotion, that's all" she giggled behind her hand.

"Huh? What do you mean? You mean he tried to kiss you?" A nod.

"So what's wrong with him?" Millie quickly crossed the rest of the hall and bent over Lestrade, her lips a few meters from his own.

"Why don't you find out?"

A loud bang erupted from the entrance of the hall, as a shadowed figure let their arms drop from their position of holding both doors open.

"I do not believe that would be the wisest plan, my dear." They said, a single step forward was taken and Millie jumped back about a meter from Lestrade.

Surprisingly, Millie hissed not unlike a cat at the new stranger's presence.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" She spat, her soft blue eyes turning a fierce red.

"Why, my dear, I believe that would be obvious," The now distinctively male voice said. Said male had now walked into the hall, and stopped a few meters short of Lestrade and Danny. His outfit looked as if it was something out of the movies. A long black leather coat was on his figure, the ends coming to flap freely around his ankles, of which was donned pointed boots, silver cowboy like spurs on the heels. A large brimmed hat shielded the man's face from view, yet again leather. Black leather gloves were on his hands… and in his right was grasped something that looked like a huge black Chainsaw, but silver decal on the blade was nothing like Greg had ever seen. The spurs echoed as he took another few steps forward, Millie – or what used to be Millie- stepping back. ",I'm here to kill you."

Suddenly, a flash of leather, spurs and blades sprinted forwards and swung at Millie. Millie had now… well, Lestrade didn't know. Her face had become foul and sunken, a blue tinge surrounding her lips as her thinned figure jumped a surprising feet of about seven meters in the air. The stranger didn't seem to mind the sudden change in position, as he flicked his wrist and a ninja star like object flew out of the long leather sleeve. It flew through the air and caught her-it's newly appeared forked tail. Unfortunately for the beast, it had been travelling to fast to stop, the flesh torn by the sharp points. A wild howl sounded. The beast flew to a high corner and gripped it, watching the stranger as a fanged mouth screeched

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT!"

"Yes, well, you best make it quick, I haven't got all morning." Said the large leather hat. His voice was obviously English, a posh silky timbre that seemed to have a talent of calming the already frayed nerves of Greg. The voice was sure and strong, but the last sentence had a hint of sarcasm, a fusion which was nice, but surprising. The thing jumped out of the corner and flew at the supposed head of the stranger. It knocked him to the floor with the swipe of a clawed hand and quickly pounced on him.

"Your time is up, Huntsman! You didn't mana-"it started, but suddenly, a pair of leather clad legs encircled its neck and the man, using a lot of strength, heaved himself from out underneath the monster, over its head and landed behind it. They both span around to face one another, and 'The Huntsman' charged forward, chainsaw high in the air. A yell followed him as he jumped in the air, and swung the spinning blade straight through its head and carried on the whole way through its body. Screams died as the blade sliced through flesh, leaving Greg feeling extremely sick. A mixture of blood and purple liquid erupted from the dissection, spilling across the floor and forming a large puddle around the butchered corpse. As bile started to build up in his throat, Greg quickly pushed Danny's head off of his knees as he threw up on the varnished floor. After a few minutes trying to compose himself, he looked up from his hunched position and wiped his mouth. 'The Huntsman' was now staring at the body, his hat hiding any emotion or… anything, really, from Greg. Slowly, pixilated squares started to leave the body and fly quietly into the air, a mixture of blue and silver catching the moonlight, before vanishing silently. They started to appear quicker and quicker until the whole body and the surrounding mess was now in a squared form, and vanishing into the atmosphere. Greg turned his face away from the somewhat beautiful scene and tried to concentrate on Danny.

"It was a succubus."

Greg's head snapped up at the stranger's posh voice. The figure was now facing him, or at least his body was. He swung his now clear blade over his shoulder and it fell heavily on his back, and stuck their without any apparent help.

"Wh-Wha-"

"A succubus, a Supernatural daemon with the power to manipulate a man's mind into believing it is a beautiful and arousing human woman, with the sole intent to seduce and have sexual intercourse with human men, them in turn dying and giving what was left of their lives to the Succubus. The Succubus would then use the corpse as food for its resident host."

'The Huntsman' hadn't moved since he began his explanation, and Greg was too much in shock to do anything.

"Wh- What's wrong wi-"

"The boy is fine – a simple kiss from a Succubus would not do more than leave the male unconscious for about twelve hours, according how long the Daemon had been close to the male."

"Oh, oh, uh… ri-right then."

The pair did nothing more but look at each other – yet again, Greg was unsure as to where the stranger was looking, but his body position hadn't changed. The quiet mutter of rain against the windows signaled the promised storm had started.

"Oh my, I guess I wasn't able to avoid the rain. A shame." The Huntsman turned to look out of the high windows at the darkened sky. By now it was about four o'clock, yet no birds had appeared. The figure made to move, when Greg blurted out

"Who are you?"

The figure stopped and said

"Oh, yes, how rude of me. Please allow me to introduce myself," He suddenly whipped off his large leather hat and fell into a dramatic bow. He then rightened himself, and Greg sat stunned at the reveal. "My name is Holmes, Mycroft Holmes."

At that, Greg's already fried brain short circuited and promptly dropped his jaw.

"M- Mr H- Hol-Holmes?"

"Yes? Was there something you wanted, Detective Inspector?" he asked, placing the hat back on his head once again hiding his face from view. Not waiting for an answer, the elder Holmes nodded and began to walk away, the spurs clinking in sync with the purposeful steps.

"Wait!"

Holmes stopped and slowly turned around.

"Yes, Detective Inspector?"

"What the hell was that all about?" Yelled Greg, Lowering Danny's unconscious head to the floor and strode towards Holmes. He stopped in front of him and looked at the leather hat … where his face was supposed to be.

"That, Detective Inspector, was me saving your skin from a not very friendly Daemon. Nothing more, nothing less. I suggest you get the boy home, he will be waking soon." And with that, he un-shouldered his large Chainsaw and swung it as if it were his umbr- at that moment, the chainsaw was replaced with said umbrella and was opened before Mycroft stepped out into the early morning rain with it above his head. A groan from behind him told him that Danny was waking, and it was about time to help him into the car.

.o0'O'0o.

Hey there!

I'm not sure if I should continue with this, but if you would like another chapter, I'll see what I can do! Anyway, Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, apart from the plotline - that I do own.

[1] No idea if this is a really place, I just made it up!

[2] Same thing here too!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The shadows swirled around his feet, the daunting mist doing nothing to tame the wild imagination Lestrade was gifted-Cursed- with. He was in a cemetery… no - a hall, no, wait it was a cemetery again. His legs were feeling heavy, his arms no better. A crack like a whip sounded behind him, and he both stopped and span around, the resulting tangle of limbs falling to the floor. The shadow that walked out from the dark seemed to be distorting, fizzing in and out like a television without a decent signal. Arms seemed to jump from still to swinging against the figures sides; the small fact Greg recognized it as being Human didn't help in any way. Breath caught in his throat, he found himself struggling to get up from the warm ground.  
Wait, warm?  
A sudden rush of adrenalin pumped through him as he rocketed up from his bed, sheets flying to his knees. The pillow, like his own forehead, had a slight sheen of sweat, but nothing else was there to prove of his nightmare. The faint sounds of screeching car brakes and police sirens mumbled through the open window, and Greg slowly stood up to close the damn thing he forgot to close earlier. The small window shut, he rested (Read: thumped without due care to the effect of bashing his head against a pane of Double glazing) his forehead against the cold glass and with a drowsy look, watched the flickering lights of London for the rest of the night.  
The morning came as nothing more than a signal to get up. Removing his now dewed face from the glass, Greg got up and showered.  
At the Yard, Aaron was all well and good – no hiccups so far, which was a good thing considering he Lestrade wasn't all with it- and someone had finally got round to fixing one of the two god awful coffee machines. The slow, somewhat meandering, walk back to his desk held no interest (he already heard that Sally has gotten her hair cut from a gossiping pair at the coffee machine) so he deftly fell into his closed off office chair, blankly staring at the drawn blinds surrounding him.  
What was last night?  
Taking a quick swig of the abomination that was the coffee, he lent back and placed his hands over his eyes. A somewhat speeded replay of the previous night, from the –  
"No, not – not going there." He barked, before taking another, less sure sip of his coffee. There was paperwork… Damn, that wasn't going to cut it. The music hall, the sight of Danny on the floor, Millie, the near kiss, loud bang of door before -  
"Sir, Freaky Holmes to see you." Said Sally, poking her head around the door. Sally knew that the occasional visit from the more scary Holmes wasn't worth giving a title because you could just say that Holmes was a weird name in itself. Lestrade looked up from his drink to see Sherlock wonder in.

"Yeah? Is there something you wanted Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, motioning to the chair in front of him merely out of politeness (they both knew that the day Sherlock accepted the chair was a day that the world was doomed). The taller man just stood and watched Lestrade for a moment, before saying  
"Have you any cold cases? John wants me away from the flat while he does a mass cleaning... thing."  
"Yeah - a few nutty ones will do?"  
"Yes" he said impatiently, watching Lestrade pull out a few manilla files with a green post it on them, 'For Sherlock'. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the note, and pinched them.  
"Usual place Sherlock - No taking them out of the building!"  
The detective waved him off as usual. After one night too many without sleep and Sherlock without the calming Doctor, Lestrade had thrown Sherlock out of his office literally on his ass, with the promise that if he didn't find a new place to look over cold cases, Lestrade would take the bloody case file and shove it down his arrogant throat. Two hours later, Sherlock returned to the office after successfully finding a room in the building that he had permission to use where he would be watched by an officer or at least a member of security. Subtly not believing him - he told Sherlock to show him. True to the clever buggers word, he found a place.  
The cold file room. He had already procured a table and chair out of nowhere and was within sights of an officer who was sat at a computer nearby doing god knows what.  
So that was where Sherlock resigned whenever Lestrade gave him cold cases. Lestrade sat back in his chair, and slid the screen up and down on his mobile. A habit he picked up in hospital, the endless waiting for news about other officers or random Junkies who turned out to be geniuses leaving him nothing to do but fiddle with the blasted thing.  
Time flies when you are having fun, so they say. Apparently it also flies when you have been lost in space for a few hours and no one comes to pull you out of it.  
sir...  
I wonder what I could have for lunch? I don't think I'm in the moo-  
"SIR!"  
Lestrade jumped out of his own head and back into the real world... the one with a pissed looking Sherlock and a slightly worried Sally leaning over his desk.  
"Huh? Yes; what's wrong?"  
"Are you alright? You have been out of it for a while now..." asked Donovan, returning to standing in front of the desk instead of being half draped over it. Lestrade shook his head as if to clear it, and turned back to Sally.  
"Yeah, I'm fine, anything wrong?" Sally shook her head and then motioned towards the door.  
"Freaks finished his thing - Dr. Watson has apparently finished... cleaning?" she said, turning to Sherlock for confirmation. The detective nodded before flouncing out of the room, Belstaff tail a muck for its flittering around his shins...  
Long, dark, coats that reach ankles...  
Lestrade quickly took a startled sip of his coffee, witnessed by a suspicious Sally.  
"Sir, I need you to sign my report of the Burford arrest."  
"Hmm?," Lestrade looked up from his cup before understanding what she said", oh, yes, leave it here and I'll do it next." Sally smiled and put the Manilla folder on his messy desk.  
"Alright I'll see you tomorrow."  
"You clocking off early? Not like you."  
Sally smiled again.  
"No, booked a few days off - sisters visiting from America, so I want to be there to actually welcome her, not just a note and a cup of coffee like last year." Lestrade nodded.  
"Yeah, fair point - Is your desk cleared?"  
"Sir?" asked Sally, eyes wide and expression a little shocked.  
"No, not like that, I mean has all the paperwork been put into your drawer? 'Cose the last time Halifax left his desk in a mess he had to write out his report of the Hamilton shooting again."  
Sally's face pinched in sympathy - the two women who were the actual culprits had practically ran the police on a wild goose chase for a while, so writing that report once was probably murder, let alone twice.  
"Yeah, it's all done."  
"Good move, see you soon!" Sally smiled  
"Bye, Sir."  
The door closed behind her and her now clouded figure moved out of sight. A buzz from the computer in front of Lestrade made him turn and answer an email.  
To : .uk  
From : .uk  
Subject : Break in at Librene Hall  
Message :  
Hey Lestrade  
There was a break in at Librene hall last night, me and the guys at disrupts got some stuff from security cameras around the area an-

That was all Lestrade read before a knock was heard on his glass door, and two constables were walking in, followed by Marcus Banfield, a Chief Inspector with a cold demeanor unless you could prove you wanted to be respected by him.  
"Detective inspector, could you come with us please?"


End file.
